Source:
http://imagecache6.allposters.com/LRG/28/2813/SXXOD00Z.jpg(Not positive that this came from a magazine, but . . .)
Response:
She pulled the borrowed cloak a little closer to her body - her clothing was anything but period and if anyone else saw it her cover would be blown. The mask was a little big and the perfectly curled, newly died blond hair was uncomfortable, but she tried not to let it show. She was a slightly older than most of the people she passed on the street, but she knew she was pretty and when she offered them a small smile they seemed satisfied. She thought back, reviewing her assignment in her mind. It would not take very long to slip through the crowd of masked teenagers in Edwardian garb and get to the quaint antique shop on the next street. The place was sure to be crowded – its array of torture implements from past ages always drew a large group of admirers at Carnival – and the vast majority of people would be half-intoxicated; no one would notice her, no one would see her collect the object. It would be a simple task – in and out in only a few minutes. It was almost irritatingly simple. Her assignments seemed to have been not only diminished, but decreasing in importance and difficulty over the last few months. She almost did not mind – the lighter work load gave her more time to pursue her own interests – but she worried why her master would be giving her less and less responsibility. As though he was fading her out. She shook her head, trying to clear it. The curls that brushed her face still smelled of dye. It might be a simple job, she reminded herself, but every object had its protectors – some more capable than others. The shop was crawling with teenagers and she smiled. There was nothing to worry about.
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